


To Catch You When You Fall

by Thegirlwhowatched



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Deathfic, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Soul Bond, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegirlwhowatched/pseuds/Thegirlwhowatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hunt goes wrong, an injured Dean finds himself under the care of Castiel, and during his recovery he learns of the significance of their 'profound bond'. The true nature of their bond sets Dean's mind reeling as he tries to fathom his feelings for Cas, and it threatens to tear them apart. Major character death- it gets feelsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean stopped to catch his breath. The last of his energy drained from him and he collapsed, his head falling into Sam's arms. His mind throbbed, and as the darkness shrank his vision to a pinpoint, he heard the soft rustle of wings.

"Castiel- the hunt went wrong, we didn't know what we were up against- I don't know how-" Sam pulled Dean's unconscious body into a sitting position.

"Can you fix him, Cas- hang on, how did you know where to find us, we're supposed-" Sam's brow furrowed as he spoke, but Castiel cut him off.

"It doesn't matter. But this isn't something my power can cure. I'm going to need a more complex spell, and I need someone to get the ingredients."

Sam frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Sure, uh, you go get the ingredients, I'll stay with Dean."

Cas looked up from Dean's still body, meeting Sam's eyes for the first time. "I can't. Certain items are… impossible for angels to obtain. You will need to do it." He reached across to Sam and touched two fingers to his head, giving him a mental map of the spell and how to perform it. Sam jolted slightly, and blinked, recovering quickly.

"Woah, Cas. Maybe a little warning next time?" Sam glanced at Dean and worry showed in his eyes. "Uh, so now I've got the handy mental-shopping-list, how long will it take to gather the stuff for the spell? And when will you explain how you know what the hell is going on?"

Castiel watched, concerned, as Sam pulled his fingers through his hair, stressed about his brother's condition. "I should think it will take a day or two. The spell is rare, and the methods are… undesirable, especially for angels. We'll talk when you get back."

Sam sighed, handed Castiel a credit card and pocketed the Impala keys.

"Well," he tapped his temple, "at least I'll know what to get. Thanks, Cas- take him to a motel, use the credit card but don't go overboard, okay?" His eyes flicked back to Dean. "This'll work, right? He'll be okay with you, won't he?" He shook his head, brow creased. "Ah, anyway. I should go. Don't forget to get him to eat, we don't all have angel metabolisms." With a final glance at Dean, and a tiny nod as though to reassure himself, he turned and headed to the Impala.

Castiel turned to Dean, kneeling down to touch a hand to his head. The ground beneath their feet was suddenly replaced with soft carpet, and he laid Dean on one of the Motel's beds before awkwardly paying for the room using the card Sam had given him.

He returned to the room and sat on the cheap cushioned chair in the corner, and he waited.

He watched as Dean slept restlessly, sweat breaking out in beads on his forehead, his breathing unsteady. He watched as Dean clenched his fists, watched as his eyes moved behind his lids before he sank into a deeper sleep. For hours Castiel watched, his mind silently ticking. He felt the whispers of the other angels, occasionally building to a crescendo in his head, calling him back to heaven. He was needed there, but still he waited.

It was in the early hours of the morning when Dean awoke, his head throbbing. He blinked, trying to make out his surroundings.

"Sammy?" His voice was hoarse. He tried to sit up but felt a searing pain, shooting through every fibre of his being. He clenched the sheet of the bed, hissing with pain.

It was then that he saw Cas in the corner, eyes fixed on him.

"Cas. Cas, what happened? Where's Sam?" He tried again to sit up, but his strength was drained from him and the sharp pain pierced his insides again. He frowned at Cas, his tone rising.

"Cas, you better tell me what the hell is going on, or so help me-"

"Sam has gone to get the ingredients for a spell- that wasn't a shapeshifter you were hunting-"

Dean scowled. "Yeah thanks for the memo Cas, bit late though. What did it do to me?"

Cas tilted his head slightly, and his eyes shifted to the side, a flicker of doubt crossing them. "Well whatever it was, it will take more power than what I possess to heal you. I can perform the spell, but the ingredients have to be collected by a human. He didn't want to leave you, but I assured him I would watch over you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks Cas, that's real reassuring." He glanced at the angel, seeing his brow tighten. He sighed. "Sorry, Cas. I'm joking, okay? You managed to get me to wherever the hell we are, so you're not totally incompetent." He tried a smile, and Cas met his eyes again.

"Hey, help me sit up, would ya? I'm not a fan of feeling like a complete invalid." Castiel strode across the room and eased Dean up into a sitting position, wincing as Dean growled with pain. Their eyes met and Dean got the feeling Cas was looking deeper than just his pained face. He blinked quickly and tried to change the subject.

"So, uh, how long have I been out cold? Where'd you come in?"

Castiel stood up and turned to the clock. "9 hours. I arrived just when the poison took you."

Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Jeez, close call. Good thing Sammy had the sense to call you down." Something changed in Castiel's eyes, and Dean saw it. "Cas?"

Cas looked back up to him again, his blue eyes boring into him. "Sam didn't call for me."

Unease crept into Dean's eyes. He told himself he knew Cas, that he was easy to read. He could always tell when he was lying, or when he didn't get one of Dean's jokes but pretended to laugh anyway. But this was different. This was something bigger.

Dean pushed himself up further, leaning forward and wincing at the pain. Cas flinched without warning. Dean tried to catch his eyes. "Cas. Cas, what aren't you telling me?" He reached for Castiel's trenchcoat collar, meaning to yank him back into reality for an explanation. As he did so, the searing pain streaked up his side, and his vision went starry. Castiel grabbed him by the shoulders, abrupt but surprisingly gentle. His eyes flashed with pain.

"Dean, just, just stay still."

"What the hell, Cas? Why are you acting like you're the one in pain? Thanks for the sympathy and everything, but don't MOCK me, damnit!" Dean closed his eyes and slumped his head against the pillow that was propped up. "I know something's up, Cas. Just tell me. When has keeping it a secret ever worked out for us?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles with the pain of his condition, and the fact that he's sure there's something Cas isn't telling him.

Dean was frustrated. He was stuck in a bed, unable to move and in agonising pain, while Cas just sat there, pretending he understood, pretending he felt Dean's pain, and being just as vague and cryptic as any other day. But there was something wrong. Dean could feel it in the air, in the way Castiel sat, in the way his blue eyes flicked over him with a look that he couldn't quite identify.

He tried lightening the thickening atmosphere in the room, though he was sure Cas was oblivious to it.

"Hey Cas, how about you get me some breakfast? I haven't eaten since yesterday morning…"

Castiel stood up abruptly, the thin, weak light from the blinds sliding over his crumpled trenchcoat. He looked about him, and then back at Dean.

"Yes of course, I, uh- Sam said you'd be hungry. I shouldn't have left it this long- I'll be back shortly."

"Oh hey, Cas, how about some p-" Dean blinked at the empty room in front of him, and sighed, leaning back into the bed. He wasn't betting on Cas remembering his love for pie- those things seemed too trivial to be of any concern to the angel. "Well, guess it's a cold sandwich for me, then," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against the dull, throbbing pain that pulsed through him as he breathed.

He tried to sleep, but there was something niggling away at him. Sure, Cas and Dean his things from each other all the time- they all did, it was in their nature. But something wasn't right here. How had Cas known where and when to find Sam and him after he was injured? Dean subconsciously slid a hand across his ribs as though trying to trace the symbols carved beneath his skin. The unexpected pain of it made him clench his jaw. That was another thing. Cas had reacted oddly to Dean's injury, and Dean couldn't quite figure it out.

He sighed in exasperation, and, wincing, pulled himself up and carefully slid off the bed, steadying himself on the bedside table. He felt disgusting- there was still grime on his face from the hunt the day before, and his clothes were dirty and ripped.

He heaved himself into the tiny bathroom, having to stop himself every now and then to blink away the spots of white light that danced in front of his eyes. The pain spread through his entire being, and seemed to throb in his very mind. He splashed water on his face, ignoring the stinging of his skin.

He glanced up at the chipped mirror, at his own face, and he stared. His reflection gazed back at him, brow furrowed, jaw set and chin trembling obstinately. The crows feet around his eyes twitched as his reflection squinted through the pain. His eyes were dark and shining, but Dean could see in them the torment only he could identify.

He cleared his throat- son of a bitch, even that hurt- and squinted up at the plastic clock fastened to the wall. 12:30. This time yesterday they had been sitting in some diner, Sam puzzling over notes and articles while Dean tried to avoid the attentions of their waitress. She had been pretty- a couple of years ago he would have been all over her- but something about her smile seemed so empty, so meaningless.

There it was again, that thought, that emotion, pressing into his mind, trying to break free from behind the solid, haphazard cage Dean had built up over the years, to block it all out. To block out the fear and the hurt, and to block out the emotions that would plague him. They would make him vulnerable. Most of all, though, the cage was there to block out the guilt. It was a deep, burning guilt that coursed through Dean's very veins, and it had followed him for as long as he could remember. The life of a hunter was a life of guilt, and that was the burden that weighed him down, and that was the burden that must be crushed. The cage meant he could stop it, at least for short periods of time. He could smile and pretend it was all okay, that he was happy. But it never lasted long.

A sudden wave of the pain rolled through his body without warning, and Dean gasped, doubled over. He didn't remember sinking to the ground, but his head pressed into the cold lino of the floor, and he clenched his fists against it, trying to will away the feeling, trying to push away the agony.

The sound of wings broke through the incessant throbbing in Dean's head, and he heard Cas beside him, panting, out of breath. He felt himself being pulled up, leant against the sink, and his eyes blurred as he tried to focus on Castiel's face.

"Dean," Cas's voice was pained, breathless, "you have to relax. You have to breathe. Dean. _Dean_."

The fog in front of Dean's eyes cleared for a moment and he saw Castiel's face inches from his, blue eyes pressing into him, full of some tortured expression. His mouth moved, but Dean was slipping away again, falling away from Cas. He gasped, swallowing lungfuls of air, but the pain throbbed through him, and the darkness snatched him from Cas's gaze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean demands answers from Cas, and while he's scared by what he learns, he knows there's something more.

When Dean's eyes fluttered open, the light of that morning had faded to night, and the room shone with a kind of ethereal glow from the moon, occasionally punctuated by the headlights of cars sliding across the walls of the motel room. Castiel was standing in the corner of the room, his back turned, and speaking in a hushed voice on the phone.

"Well perhaps you should try again tomorrow, Sam," he sighed, obviously exasperated, "I know, I know- it was never going to be a simple cure. Yes, we'll speak later. No, nothing's changed."

Dean tried to speak, but his voice came out cracked, broken. "Cas? Was that Sam?"

Cas turned to him, his hair more unkempt than earlier, and his eyes holding a new weariness. He locked eyes with Dean, testing him, diagnosing his condition, before he spoke.

"Yes. He's managed to obtain some of the ingredients, though some still… evade him. He should be able to get them all tomorrow, and be back the day after. He just wanted to check in." He sat in the chair again, pulling it a little closer.

It was then Dean noticed the paper bag on the bedside table. "Oh man. Is that what I think it is?" He reached across to it despite the pain that seared up his side, trying to ignore Cas's flinch. He'd figure that one out later.

The pie was cold, but Dean appreciated it nevertheless. He hadn't realised that Cas had remembered his preference for pie- especially cherry, which he now devoured unashamedly. The pain spread through him again, but slowly this time, sluggishly, as though dulled by some unseen force.

He glanced up at Cas, unsurprised to find him staring intently at him. He'd got used to it by now- the invasion of personal space, the too-long pauses in their conversations, and the way Cas seemed to look right into him. At first it had made him feel vulnerable and he had pushed him away, trying to regain some control. But that had passed now, and he felt accustomed to (if not completely comfortable with) these interactions.

"Sorry about earlier, Cas. I needed to get out of bed at least for a minute. Can't stand sitting still." He smiled weakly at Cas, but his expression changed as he noticed the sober expression on Castiel's face. "Cas. I think now's probably a good time for you to give me some answers about this, okay?"

Castiel shifted in his seat and sighed, looking down at his hands, twisting them around each other. "I had anticipated this conversation. Your condition is unusual, and of course I'll explain as best I can."  
He met Dean's eyes again, and Dean gave him the tiniest of nods, his brow furrowed slightly.

"I'm still unsure as to what it was you were hunting back there-"

Dean huffed. "Sure as hell wasn't a shifter."

"No. All I know is what it did to you. It poisoned you, but the poison is unlike anything I've seen for a few millennia. The effects-" He frowned shook his head slightly, "they're complex."

"Yeah, I'll say. How is it even possible to hurt everywhere? I thought I'd had it rough before now…" Dean chuckled, wincing with the pain.

"It's not your body that's feeling the pain- that is, your body is in pain, but the cause of it is your soul itself."

At this, Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck pricking, and he swallowed. This was serious. He felt a little sick, and swallowed, frowning up at Cas. "How bad is it? And damnit, Cas, don't sugar-coat it. Just tell me. Please."

Cas heaved in a breath, and exhaled, almost breathing out his words in a low growl. "Your soul is rejecting your body. It is literally trying to rip itself away, but your body is holding on. That's what the pain is."

Dean blinked, taking it in. "Son of a bitch. But peoples' souls leave their body when they die, don't they? When those bastard hellhounds got me I didn't feel this. I thought it was always supposed to be peaceful, your soul moving on and all that crap?"

Castiel frowned again, and his hands twisted in his lap, fingers pulling at each other and wrists locked in place, tense. "That's how it normally goes, yes. That's how it's supposed to go. But the poison doesn't just kill you, it literally tears your soul from your body before it's ready to go. Souls are delicate things, Dean. They are stronger than you can imagine, and this poison- it's wreaking havoc on yours."

Dean laid his head back into the pillow, exhausted. He spoke to the grimy, textured ceiling of the motel, knowing Cas's bright blue eyes would be fixed on him. "Never thought I'd say this, but you should feel lucky you're missing out on this soul stuff. More trouble than it's worth."

There was silence.

Obviously touched a nerve.

"Cas?" Dean pulled himself up and pain shot through him, tugging at his very bones. He blinked as the room swam before him, but as he tried to focus he felt Castiel's arms hoisting him up, leaning him back against the bed. His breathing hitched in his throat. "Try not to move, Dean. Please." His face swam in and out of focus in front of Dean's eyes, and he fought to remain conscious.

_Not gonna let my juiced up soul get the better of me this time._

He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again the pain had subsided to a low, dull throb. Castiel was inches away from him, sitting on the bed with this hand clenched around the corner of the bedside table. His eyes were dark, and his mouth trembled. When he looked up at Dean, he had tried to clear his face of emotion, tried to wipe away the look in his eyes. But Dean had seen it, and as he sank into sleep later, the image of Castiel's agonised face glowed against his shut eyelids, imprinted as though he had stared at the sun for too long. He slept restlessly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns the truth, and it gives him a lot to think about.

The next morning passed almost in silence. Dean was drifting in and out of sleep, waking up for periods of ten minutes at a time before he succumbed to the heaviness of his eyelids and the aching of his bones. When he was awake, he would check the cheap plastic clock on the wall, the hours flicking past him, ticking away the day. _7:20. 9:14. 11:03. 12:30._

And always, watching Dean from under those heavy-lidded eyes, always with an unfathomable expression, Castiel was there. He didn't move from his seat next to the bed; whenever Dean woke up he appeared to be in the same awkward, slightly stiff pose in the chair. His hands were folded neatly in his lap as though he didn't quite know where to put them. He leant forward slightly, his shoulders hunched, tense. When Dean was conscious they would exchange a few words.

_Has Sammy called?_

_Yes, he's nearly got everything._

_He'd better hurry the hell up, being stuck in bed is not fun._

Silence. Then, softly, _He'll be back soon_.

Dean woke from his state of drifting in and out of consciousness later that day. The pain still coursed through him, but he'd got the hang of avoiding any movement. Still, at any tiny contact- the brush of the duvet across his arm, the stroke of a slight breeze from the window across his brow- his skin pricked with goosebumps, and each one pinched and burned, all his sensations heightened by the pain.

At these inflictions Castiel would blink quickly, or sometimes tremble. His brow would furrow and then smooth over as quickly as it had tensed, a furious concealment of some torturous emotion.

Eventually, after a particularly unpleasant bout of pain, and a visible shudder from Castiel, Dean snapped. He stared accusingly at the angel, and when he spoke, his voice was a low growl.

"There's something you're not telling me, and I've had enough, Cas. What is this, really? What's with all the little twitches? I'm the one who's hurting."

Castiel met Dean's eyes with that expression, that pent-up emotion concealed behind his blue eyes. He cast his eyes downwards before he spoke, quietly and slowly.

"Everything I told you was true. Your soul is tearing away, and that's what the pain is. But _I_ feel some of that pain too, Dean."

As he spoke, his voice grew louder, became a deep rumble in his chest. His eyes were no longer veiled in peace- something was surfacing, and it was powerful, and it scared Dean.

"What are you talking-" But something had broken in Cas, and his words came pouring out.

"Dean, when I raised you from hell, I left a mark. An action of that scope always will."

Dean instinctively raised an arm to the place on his shoulder where the raw, red handprint had been. It had almost healed, and yet he felt it now, throbbing almost as he had felt it the day he climbed out of the earth. Pain shot through him again, but he ignored it, eyes fixed on Cas. Cas wasn't so quick to hide the pain, and he flinched, his arm jumping protectively to his side.

"Cas, what-"

"It left a mark on me too, Dean. I gripped you tight, but you held on." With a sigh of complete resignation, he lifted his trenchcoat and the grubby shirt underneath, his skin underneath pale and almost translucent, sliding slightly over his ribs as he twisted around. On his back, behind his heart, was a pink handprint, almost healed but clearly visible.

Dean clenched his fist. He blinked, and then said simply, "I did that?"

"I pulled your soul from hell. Your soul clung tight to me, and in that process, I formed a- a link to your soul. A bond."

Dean frowned. "A bond-?"

"I hold a part of your soul, as you hold a part of mine. It's one of the more-"

"Hang on, hang on. I thought angels didn't have souls? Thought that was kinda the point? No offence, Cas."

Castiel cast his eyes downwards, and fiddled with his hands again. His unease was almost tangible in the air.

"We don't, but, uh- it has been known for an angel to- _adopt_ a soul, or some kind of equivalent, under extreme circumstances. Extreme circumstances like pulling a righteous man from hell, and having him grip you back."

Dean felt a sense of overwhelming fear, a sudden terror that squeezed at his heart. He couldn't place it- he was all over the place as it was- but Castiel's words had stirred something powerful, and he felt it building, felt its presence truly for the first time since he had got back from hell. Castiel's soul, bound with his own, inextricably linked. The thought made his head swim, and he blinked at the pale, flickering light of the motel room, its image blossoming on the inside of his eyelids as he squeezed them shut.

He opened his eyes again, determination setting his jaw and putting a hard edge into his gaze. "What does that mean- for us, Cas? Son of a bitch, I need my soul, man! It's-" he stopped as he noticed the look on Castiel's face. "It's just a lot to take in, okay? Don't get upset or anything."

Castiel tilted his head in what could have been a tiny nod, and rose to walk to the window. He gazed out, his eyes crinkling as the light made his pupils contract, filled his vision.

Dean turned away, pressing his face into the pillow, trying to choke down the hiss that escaped his throat as pain seared up his side. It throbbed, but lingered in one place. The handprint on his shoulder tingled, and pain tore at it, clawing like desperate fingers. Dean swallowed and tried to ignore it, shutting his eyes against the agony, and pushing away the thoughts that clouded his mind.

Thoughts, memories, images flashed through his head. Castiel appearing to him in the barn that day. His wings, silhouetted, real and yet fluid, shifting in the air. The gazes, the pauses, the uncomfortable silences that felt solid in the air. Castiel's unfailing loyalty, his honest intentions, his childlike innocence, and the pain that could fill his being. Pain that had always been caused by Dean. Dean felt his eyes grow hot as one memory pierced at his mind, repeating in his head like a mantra.

_Dean and I do share a more profound bond. I wasn't gonna mention it._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later, and Castiel's revelation is still weighing heavily on Dean's mind.

The Impala's engine rumbled gently, throwing up dust into the hot, dry air. Dean smiled a little, twisting his hands around the wheel. Sammy was fast asleep next to him, books and papers still strewn across his lap, his face calm and peaceful in sleep. During moments like these Dean could still see his baby brother Sammy in that face, his childhood exposed in the innocence of sleep. Weeks spent on the road, uncertainty lying ahead of them, and chaos thrown behind. Dean squinted at the horizon, the red light dipping below the trees, silhouetting them with the intricacy of lace. It was good to be back on the road.

A week had passed since Sam's return, since they had performed the spell. A week since the poison had been burnt out of Dean's soul, and a week since he had seen Castiel.

Once the pain was gone, seared out of him with latin words spoken hesitantly from a book, Dean had opened his eyes to see Sam leaning over him, brows knitted together in concern. Castiel stood in the corner of the room, watching Dean warily. Dean had not made eye contact with him.

Their last exchange was awkward, hurried, and Dean had been almost relieved when the flurry of wings had filled the empty space before him. He was reluctant to hear them announcing his arrival again, because it would raise a topic he'd been trying to avoid for the past week.

He was uneasy about their bond, their shared souls. It had _implications_ , and once Dean had sorted it all through in his head that first night, he realised he felt vulnerable. It was a feeling he rarely experienced. Faced with ghosts, demons, and monsters he stood firm. Confident to the point of arrogance, he kept up his façade, strengthened by bloodshed and detachment from anyone who wasn't family. But now, he felt the façade stripped away, felt himself being made weak, felt himself being seen, _understood,_ for the first time in years, and it was Castiel who brought this about.

So he had done what any person will do when their weakness is exposed. He ran from it, and buried it, and with it he buried his feelings. Castiel had clearly gotten the message, as they hadn't heard from him since Dean had said a vague, detached goodbye in the motel room.

Dean pulled over the Impala, the wheels bouncing and crunching over the dusty red stones at the roadside. Night was falling, and Dean gingerly eased a beer from under Sam's seat, taking care not to wake him. He needed this time alone.

The Impala sank slightly under his weight as he leaned on the bonnet. He lifted the bottle to his lips, the glass cooling his tongue, before taking a swig.

The sky was bright with the pale, weak darkness of dusk, just after the sun has gone down. The air was cool and clear, and Dean shut his eyes against it, letting it thread through him, between the folds of his clothes, through his hair and lashes.

Presently he opened his eyes, peaceful for the first time since their hunt. The roadside was silent and still, yet it hummed with activity, unseen but always there, nature burrowing and digging and flying and scratching, always changing yet unmoving.

Dean had never really listened like this before, or if he had, he had never really heard like he was hearing now. His mind was throbbing with awareness of his surroundings, of the life that filled the darkening sky. He wondered where this awareness had come from, and could think of only one answer.

_Cas's soul._

He scowled and took another swig of beer, his tranquillity shattered. He heard before he saw- a flutter that broke the silence, pushed at the air, making way for the figure that stood before him as he turned around.

"Dean."

Dean coughed a little, clearing his throat but choking slightly.

His voice broke and he cursed himself as he replied,"Cas."

The angel stood before him, unkempt as ever, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. He squinted at Dean, fascinated yet wary, trying to understand.

"What are you doing here, Cas? I don't- I'm still trying to sort things out, man. I'm sorry." He looked down and, suddenly remembering the beer in his hand, lifted it to his lips and drank, glad of an excuse to avoid looking at Castiel.

The angel stepped closer regardless. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Dean's eyes snapped back to his, and his words pierced him to the very core. He blamed himself, of course he did, it was in his nature- but knowing that Cas could see, or even feel, his self-hatred, made his breath hitch in his throat.

"Of course I have! How can you _say_ that, Cas? It's my fault people die, that I don't save them in time. My fault dad's dead, my fault Sam wasn't there for Jess, my fault he's been dragged back into this, my fault I can't deal with you being here! I'm a freaking mess, Cas, and I've got everything to be sorry for."

Castiel drew closer still, and for once, Dean let him. He needed to let this out, despite himself. Cas sat on the Impala beside him, and gazed up at the sky. When he spoke, it was in a low whisper.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Dean choked down the words rising in his throat, unable to respond. Castiel continued to watch the sky, eyes flicking over the tops of the trees. He gazed at the world with the unending intrigue of a curious child, and simultaneously with the awed appreciation of an old man, wise in his years.

Dean couldn't help noticing the way the blue light of dusk touched Castiel's face. It curved over his brow, lit up his irises so they were almost glowing. It dipped across his nose, lighting up his profile, and for once Dean could truly see that this was a creature of heaven. The light whispered across his lips, curving over his cupid's bow. Dean blinked and looked away, biting back the way he was inexplicably drawn to Castiel.

He set down the empty beer bottle, and crossed his arms around himself. The air was cold, but it wasn't the wind that sent a chill through him. Castiel's eyes were on him again, softer this time, and Dean subconsciously reached for the mark on his shoulder. Castiel got there first. His hand was resting on Dean's shoulder, and even through his thick leather jacket and shirt, he could feel his skin tingling beneath his touch.

Castiel was close now, close enough that Dean could feel the heat of his body. He shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do with his hands. Castiel had the strength of an angel and he knew he was no match for him. He was staring at him with a wild, awed look in his eyes. Dean met his eyes and his hand subconsciously lifted to reach for Castiel's back, to press over the mark he had left in hell. When he made contact with the trenchcoat, Dean caught himself and drew in a breath sharply, pulling away his hand and avoiding Castiel's gaze.

"Hey, uh, hey Cas? I-" he cleared his throat, voice strained with supressed emotion, "I don't know how- I don't know how to _deal_ with this. I'm straight, I don't- but you're just…" His voice trailed off, and he lifted his eyes to Castiel's.

"Our souls are joined, Dean. I know you. All the pain, the guilt, the regret- and the confusion. It's understandable. Just know that I will be here always."

At this Dean cast his eyes to the ground, unable to stop the shaky breath that tore itself from his throat. He felt the hand tighten its grip on his shoulder, and his own hand clung to the car. He trembled as he felt Castiel's breath breach the cold air, felt it warm his face. He felt Cas's lips press to his forehead gently, a blessing and yet something more. His lips lingered on Dean's skin. It was intimate, sweet, cautious, and when Castiel tilted his head away, Dean touched a hand to Castiel's, placed it over his shoulder without hesitation. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head, and a thousand feelings pumped through his blood.

"Cas, if you can read my soul- if my soul is a part of you, then you know-"

"Yes, Dean. I know."

Dean dropped his hand and turned away from Cas, leaning out of his grip. They stood apart, the righteous man and the angel of the Lord, and they gazed at each other.

But now the unease was back, and Dean knew it was wrong, felt the vulnerability at sharing his soul with Castiel's. Something snapped into place inside him, and the façade was back, and he was Dean Winchester again, and he wanted his soul to be his own.

Castiel's eyes weren't just on him, they were in him, intertwined with his mind, all-seeing and _all-knowing_. The fear returned, and Dean whirled around to face the angel.

Castiel's expression had changed. His face had lost the awed look, and his eyes were dark, fearful. He knew. He knew what was coming, and it was this that pushed Dean to the brink.

"Cas, I need my soul back."


	6. Chapter 6

The air grew cold between them, the breeze stilled and the trees silent. For the first time Dean was aware of the darkness that had crept down to the treetops, seeping into the last glow of sunlight on the horizon. He pushed everything to the back of his mind, anger swelling deep in his gut. His eyes remained fixed on Castiel, who stood motionless, eyes downcast.

Dean repeated himself, almost in a growl. "Cas, you better give me my damn soul back."

Still nothing. Castiel's arms hung at his sides, fingers unmoving. He gave no sign of recognition, simply gazing at the ground, calm and expressionless.

Dean spoke again, fighting back the impulse to grab Castiel by the shoulders and make him listen. "It's not right, it's not _natural,_ that you've got VIP access to my soul-"

At this Castiel's eyes shot up, piercingly blue in the dim light, filled with something akin to hope.

"And you have access to my soul too- or whatever it is I now posess. Don't you _see,_ Dean, this is something beyond either of our power, but it is something shared rather than stolen. Your soul is yours, and always has been."

"Well maybe you don't have an issue with sharing your soul, but I sure as hell do. You can feel my thoughts and emotions and memories, and sometimes- just sometimes- I can feel yours, but that doesn't make it right and it doesn't mean I'm okay with it."

He scowled, a kind of violent determination simmering inside him. Castiel had backed a tiny step away, a distance that would seem meaningless to anyone but Dean, whose personal space was so often invaded by the angel. The movement was enough to snap some tiny, delicate thread in Dean's thoughts. His anger unravelled and knotted itself all the way through him, noosed around his throat, coiled deep in his gut, and when he spoke his voice was vicious, poisoned with a hatred directed at Cas, at himself, at everything.

"Cas, fix this or- or we're done. Mojo my soul back, all of it. Or we're done."

Silence again. An emotion that wasn't his, wasn't human, swelled inside him, something akin to sorrow. But it was a sorrow deeper than any Dean had ever felt; deeper than when he lost his mother, more piercing than all the times he had lost Sam, to Stanford or to Azazel or to Ruby or to Lucifer himself. It was the sorrow of a falling angel on the brink of loss, and it ripped through him with blinding, fearsome clarity.

He staggered back a little, taken aback by the sheer power contained within Castiel, within him. Castiel's eyes were fixed with that expression Dean had for so long tried to comprehend, but now he could see it for what it was, a deep, pure sorrow.

Castiel's voice was quiet, a low whisper. "I can't. The bond is unbreakable until parted by the loss of one- or both souls- " at this he paused, and his gaze flicked downwards, "-to hell."

Dean's mouth fell slightly agape and he shut it, the confusion melting back into anger and boiling away inside him. "One of us has to go to the pit? To die?"

Before he knew it, he was staggering forward, fist smarting from the blow to Castiel's jaw. Castiel simply stood before him, infuriatingly unfazed by the attack, except for the emotion in his eyes that coursed through Dean's body, mingling with the anger in a poisonous cocktail.

Dean flexed his fingers again, stumbling as he launched himself at Castiel, throwing punches at his face, his gut, his arms that hung so inexpressively by his sides. The emotion boiled up, constricting his chest so it felt tight and his breath choked out in deep gasps.

Castiel stood there and took it, pain flicking across his face as the skin over his cheekbone split and his lip swelled, blossoming red. He absorbed the blows, Jimmy's body standing strong despite Dean's onslaught. It was only his eyes that showed any reaction, and they seemed to whisper, comforting, reassuring.

Dean yelled between punches, eyes stinging from the angry tears that filled them. "So that's it? That's friggin _it?_ You're keeping half my soul or one of us is heading downstairs? I'm sick of this, Castiel, I'm sick of everything, I'm sick of you-"

Castiel winced at his words, the most painful of Dean's blows yet. He lifted a hand to his own cheek, feeling the wound tender under his fingers, and seeing the blood glisten on his fingertips. Dean was watching him, out of breath, face marked with angry tears that scorched a burning trail down his cheeks.

Castiel went to speak, but Dean interrupted.

"You know I didn't want any of this. That day, in the barn, when we summoned you-"

"I said that you didn't think you deserved to be saved."

"Yeah, well," Dean smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, "guess you were right. Of course, by then you could see into my damn _soul,_ but don't worry about it, don't bother telling me or anything. Just read my thoughts, that's a great way to earn trust." His voice was cruel now, and full of bitterness, and when Cas stepped back Dean grabbed him by the shoulder with a raw violence that shook Cas to the core.

"Dean. You did deserve to be saved. You're a better man than you know, and you taught me so much- " Castiel's voice was rough with emotion, "and you shouldn't hate yourself. I'm sorry about your soul, and mine. It was… unavoidable, and inevitable, and irrevocable, but I'm sorry you hate it so much. Truly I am. If there was anything-" Castiel trailed off,  felt a burning, twisting sensation deep in his stomach, and when he stopped for breath, he found himself taking deep, wracking breaths that ripped from his throat.

He was losing Dean, he could see that now. He was losing the man who had shown him what it is to be human, to have a soul, to love and to hate and to live a life by your own free will. He was losing the man he was supposed to protect, whom he had grown closer to and whom he cared for with a terrifying, overwhelming, all-consuming power.

He was losing the man he loved.

He tried to calm his breath, tried to simply step away from the conflict and the pain and the desperation. He knew what was coming, and as Dean moved to speak again, Cas flexed his Grace, tugged at time itself, and slowed it down, almost to a stop. The breeze calmed, weaving through his hair that fell across his face, mussed by Dean's fists. The air grew heavy and still, and as time rolled past, slow and daunting, Dean stood before him, breathing in slow motion, the watch on his wrist ticking the seconds by lazily. 12:30. Castiel watched Dean's face, gazed into his hate-filled glare, saw the quivering of his lips, the trembling of his bruised, bloody hands slowed down to a moment of pure peace.

Castiel savoured the moment, drank in everything he saw, everything he felt. The closeness, the still air the only barrier between them. The way the feeling swelled inside him, the mingling of his own love and hurt, and Dean's confusion and anger. It pulsed now, a heartbeat slowed almost to a stop, the death of something intricate and beautiful, yet self-destructive. Castiel breathed, and time sped up again, vital and raw. As he let the moment slip away, feeling the breeze quicken against his stinging skin, he let go. He let it die.

Dean hadn't noticed the change. He stepped back, shaking his head a little, and he looked at Cas with fear and loathing in his eyes.

"Then you know what? We're done, Castiel. You can get the hell away from me, and don't come back. If my soul is in you, bonded with yours or whatever, then so be it, but don't expect me to just accept it as if there's no problem with it. And don't expect to see me again."

Castiel didn't respond. He let the feeling of these last moments wash through him, the peace of his borrowed seconds still filling him. He understood, and he would do this for Dean, as he always had. He stood a little straighter and met Dean's eyes again, willing him to feel his own worth, to know he was loved.

When the sound of wings filled the air and Dean was left alone, he felt something slip away, a loss that ached incessantly.

It ached as he climbed back into the Impala, startling Sam out of sleep, scattering papers over his lap. It ached as he drove through the night, ached as he sank into the pillow of an unfamiliar motel room. He was painfully aware of it, but soon enough it would fade and the absence of Castiel would become  painfully cold, stable. He would try not to think about Cas, up in heaven or perhaps wandering the Earth, a piece of Dean's soul within him. When the memories were unavoidable, he would drown them in the alcohol that numbed his brain and throbbed through his body, pulling him into a dreamless sleep.

If Sam noticed Castiel's absence he didn't say anything. He was insightful enough to know not to pick at the wound, not to press Dean for answers. So they slipped back into routine, weeks passing, months flicking by like strips of film; quick, unnoticed and unremembered.

Dean was suspended in his state of uncertainty- torn between a desperate desire to forget and to move on, and the ache that reminded him of his angel that was out there still, the angel who he had pushed away, the angel who shared his soul.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed, but there's an absence in Dean's life where an angel should be.

Dean felt the ground come up to meet his feet, knocking the breath out of him as he hit the concrete. He staggered from the wall, breaking into a run. The lamplight shone onto the wet pavement, tiny pearls thrown up by Dean's boots. It was late, Dean didn't know what time. He continued to run, relishing the exhilaration of his breath rushing out of his throat and the impact of his strides rippling painfully through his body.

His pursuer wasn't far behind. His shouts barely registered in Dean's ears, which were pounding with blood, his pulse racing. Dean continued to run, unaware of his direction, oblivious to his surroundings. His belt was empty; he had left his knife with Sam, and now he was weaponless. A thrill rushed through him, and he embraced the joy of risktaking, relishing the excitement he had been seeking for so many weeks.

Presently he realised the man chasing him had given up and skulked back into the shadows of the alleys. Dean slowed to a walk, still trembling from the adrenaline. His head began to throb, and he winced at the pain, somewhere between a smile and a grimace. He wandered the streets, disoriented, before he eventually staggered up the steps to their motel.

The light was on, and Dean blinked as his eyes adjusted.

"Sammy! Heya, Sam. I'm back." He spread his arms wide and grinned. "I'm alive, look!"

Sam didn't look up. He was hunched over the laptop, irritably tapping at the keyboard. Four empty coffee cups sat discarded at the cheap table.

Dean slapped him on the back in greeting. "Got chased back here. Almost all the way. Reckon the guy was a demon, there was definitely something off with him. Guy was a jerk. Almost got ganked, see?" He gestured vaguely to his head.

Sam sighed. "Dean, just go to bed, ok. I'm working on something."

"Someone's a grumpy goose."

"Yeah, well you're drunk. _Again._ Go to bed."

"Maybe _you_ should go to bed, Sammy." Dean let out a giggle, then tried to regain his composure. "I'm fine, see?"

Sam shut his laptop abruptly, and stood up wearily. "Alright, let's get you a glass of water. And sleep, Dean. It's 12:30 and you haven't slept since two days ago."

Dean stepped back and tripped over the bed, not even attempting to sit back up. He shut his eyes and watched with vague interest as coloured lights blinked and shifted and pulsed, sliding across his eyelids. His breathing steadied to a slow rise and fall.

Sam's sudden weight on the bed made Dean frown. "Leave me alone."

Cool glass pressed against his bruised fist, and Dean accepted the water reluctantly. He didn't want to meet Sam's eyes, but he knew how this was going to go. He'd figured out the drill weeks ago.

Sam's eyes were filled with concern and a kind of tired resignation Dean and grown used to. "You need to stop this, Dean. The drinking, the fights. I get that you miss him, I do too, but-"

"You think this is about… him? Nah, Sammy, this is all me. What's wrong with a man who likes his liquor, anyway?" He tried a grin, but Sam was having none of it.

"Well, the fights then. Half the time you come back with a broken nose or swollen fists and you don't even remember who you picked a fight with-"

"I don't pick fights, they all ask for it, Sam-"

"No, you do. You start fights because we haven't had a case for a month, and you're bored, and you need a distraction from him being gone. It's not healthy, Dean. I know the sooner we get a case the better, for the both of us, but in the meantime you need to get a grip."

There was silence for a moment, as Dean tried to take in his words. He tried to reject them, tried not to remember the last month. The alcohol washed through him, bleaching his thoughts until he was a blank canvas, empty and unfeeling.

He shrugged and slumped onto the bed, smirking. His speech slurred. "I still think you're just grumpy."

He felt Sam's weight leave the bed, and heard his voice as he was dragged into sleep. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now. We'll get breakfast tomorrow, okay? Try to get some sleep."

Dean didn't respond. He lay fully clothed, sprawled across the bed as thoughts blurred through his head. He skirted around the emptiness that spread through him, a stain that tinted his thoughts jet black. He skirted around the shape that had been missing for a month, since he sent him away. The stain leaked into the folds of the coat, darkened the eyes that watched over him, bled through the memory of Castiel vanishing into the dusk. Dean alone in the field, standing by the Impala with a heavy feeling of loss weighing on him. The last of dusk's light seeping into the horizon, stealing away the shadows. Soon that memory blurred too, shifted and distorted and blackened by Dean's drunken mind, and as it faded, he dreamt of Castiel.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean track down the creature that poisoned Dean's soul- but unaware of what it really is, they take the risk of hunting it unprepared.

"Dean, come on, get up. I think I've got something."

Sam's voice filtered through the vague throbbing in Dean's head. He pressed his face into the pillow and groaned.

"Ugh, Sam, if this one turns out to be just another deluded old lady with a rat problem, I swear I'll kill you."

He rolled over, flinging his arm over his face to block out the light that pierced his eyelids. From the other side of the room, he heard Sam, tapping away at his laptop again.

"No, I think this could be the real deal. It's a string of disappearances, couple of states over, in Louisiana."

Dean sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and blinking himself awake.

"Oh yeah? What do we think it is? Vampires? Man, we haven't cleared out a nest of those suckers in a while."

Sam frowned, and looked up from the computer screen, watching Dean's response.

"No, Dean- I think it could be the thing that got you, the uh, the creature that poisons souls."

Dean strode across the room and turned the laptop to face him, his eyes flicking across the screen and his mouth set in a tight line. Sam hesitated.

"Dean, I've been doing some research and as far as I can tell, no one's seen anything like this before. Either that, or it gets passed off as some kind of rogue Reaper."

"So, uh, these disappearances. What makes you think they've got anything to do with this creature?" Dean scrolled through the pages, faces and names plastered all over articles and posters from the town.

Sam sighed. "Well, it's the same thing as the creature we thought was a shifter last time. People disappear and, I'm guessing, get taken to wherever this thing feeds. If it poisons souls, like Cas said-" he tried to ignore Dean's flinch at Castiel's name- "then when the soul finally rips away, that's probably how it eats. Surviving off the souls of people who should have lived long lives."

"So you reckon it's in Louisiana? Well how do we kill the damn thing?" Dean stood up, suddenly restless.

"There's next to no lore on this thing- the closest things I can find are Crocutta, or maybe some kind of Reaper, but none of them really fit. I say we take all the usual stuff- silver knife, stake, saltguns- one of them's gotta work, right?" He smiled, but the unease in his eyes gave him away.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well. The sooner this thing's ganked, the better. I don't care how we do it."

They spent the remainder of the morning packing, Sam busying himself with the laptop and their bags while Dean loaded the trunk of the Impala. They said little; years of spending every day together meant they knew each other so well the words could be left unsaid. The time they had spent separated, each of their stints in Hell, meant they cherished the moments of calm before hunts, when they could simply be brothers again, and enjoy each other's' company.

It was almost noon when they pulled out of the motel in Georgia, and just past midnight when they arrived in Louisiana. They booked into a cheap motel, dumped their bags, and spread out the maps and Sam's research across the flimsy wooden table.

It didn't take them long to find what they were looking for; an empty warehouse central to the homes of all five of the abducted civilians.

Sam squinted at the map, frowning. He nodded to himself before speaking.

"Yeah. This looks like it could be the place. Cops wouldn't have checked, looks like most of it is in ruins. Looks pretty well fenced off, too."

Dean was already pulling on his worn leather jacket, determination set in his eyes.

"So bring the wire cutters. We're killing this son of a bitch tonight, Sam. Those people are getting saved tonight."

Sam nodded, and they headed back out to the Impala, the cool night's breeze making their breath visible under the harsh light of the streetlamps.

They drove in silence, Dean's hands gripping the steering wheel, his jaw set resolutely. After weeks of anger and frustration and confusion and loss, he was going to end it. The creature that wrecked his life, that drove him to push Castiel away, was going to die, and Dean was going to kill it. And he knew he was damaged to be looking forward to it so much. To be looking forward to gripping the thing that poisoned his soul, that poisoned him against Cas, and killing it. To be looking forward to feeling the dead weight of its body as the life drained from it. He knew it was wrong, but he didn't care.

They pulled into the alley beside the warehouse, the car's tires grinding to a halt over the loose gravel and tarmac. 

Dean shut the car door quietly behind him, feeling adrenaline begin to seep into his blood. The fence around the building was high, and the wire was dented and torn in places. Sam made quick work of it, the wire cutters making soft metallic sounds as they snapped the fence open.

When they first got in, all Dean could see was the dim outline of his brother shifting in the dark. The place had a chill that seemed to hover in the air, still and cold and unresponsive. Moonlight leaked through panes of broken glass, reflected off the shards that were scattered over the concrete. Nothing moved.

They made their way through the warehouse, stepping over discarded boxes and old machinery. A slight breeze picked up from somewhere, and a newspaper lifted off the ground for a moment, sliding an inch or so before the breeze stilled and it lay to rest.

Dean glanced at Sam, whose eyes were fixed ahead, his profile dark except for the occasional patch of light that slid over his face as they moved forward.

In a sudden flurry of wings, the silence was shattered as a bird shot from behind a pile of papers, scattering debris everywhere as it flew through one of the empty window frames out into the dark. Dean stumbled backwards at the sound of the wings, hitting an empty can of paint that clattered and rolled over the floor, hollow echoes ricocheting off the blank, hostile walls.

Dean froze again, willing the low, metallic note of the rolling can to stop. Sam was watching, waiting for any sign that they had disturbed anything lurking in the shadows. No sign came.

A few more moments passed before Dean released the breath he had been holding, relaxing as he did so. They continued to pick their way around upturned tables and rubble. Dean blinked as he stepped into a pool of weak moonlight, impossibly blue and cascading from above. He glanced up, saw the skylight shattered, the panes of glass that had rained down probably months earlier, scattered at his feet like shards of ice. The frame of the skylight remained, black bars that silhouetted against the moonlight that bathed them.

Dean turned to Sam, who was inching around a corner. He spoke in a whisper.

"I dunno, man. I mean, there's no blood. Maybe there's nothing here."

But suddenly a whimper came from behind a shelving unit, and it quickly grew to muffled sobs. The first thing Dean saw was a body, perhaps a day old, twisted into the foetal postion on the floor. Next to it, shadows cast over the hollow cheeks, another corpse- an older man, his fists clenched and his eyes glassy. In the dark behind the bodies, a girl sat crouched, her body contorted and trembling, tears streaking her face as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Sam crouched next to her, holding his hands up when she flinched at the sudden movement.

"Hey, hey it's okay, we got you. It's Marie, right? Marie Spencer? We're gonna get you out, don't worry."

"I- I can't move… It _hurts._.. everywhere, even to breathe- that thing… that man kept coming back and he… he-" The girl sobbed again, and Dean winced at the memory of the pain she was feeling.

Sam spoke again, his voice soft and encouraging.

"We just gotta get you somewhere safe- here, try to relax. I'm gonna lift you, and it's gonna hurt but try to stay quiet, okay?"

The girl nodded, her lip trembling. Her eyes widened and squeezed shut as Sam lifted her into his arms. Her hands clenched and Dean could see her ribs through her shirt. She had been here for days at least, unable to move from the pain, unable to reach food.

She gasped again, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Can you ask Anthony- I think his name is Anthony-" she tried to gesture to one of the corpses, the one most recently deceased. "He… he told me it was gonna be okay… I tried to wake him, he can't move… none of us can move, it hurts… Please, you have to help Anthony..."

She gazed up at Sam, eyes pleading, a wildness in them that Dean supposed had something to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten in days. Dean glanced down, checking the corpses, the one who had been called Anthony. He looked up at Sam, and with one tiny shake of his head, communicated everything they needed to say.

Sam met Marie's eyes again, this time with pity in his voice as he spoke.

"Marie, we're gonna get you out of here, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but Anthony hasn't made it…"

"No… No you don't- you don't understand, he can't move, it hurts to move… He's in pain, that's all… Can't move because of the pain… He's… He needs to come to the hospital… You gotta help him, he's alive, he's _alive_ -"

Her voice trailed off and her eyes slid out of focus, flicking vaguely around the warehouse. Her murmurs were quiet and pleading, and she fell unconscious as Sam carried her out to the Impala.

Dean called out in a low whisper to Sam's retreating figure.

"Stay with her, Sammy. I don't think the creature's here anymore- he's claimed two souls, guess he's skipped town. I'm just gonna check the rest of this place. Go to the hospital, I'll meet you back at the motel."

He glanced around before stepping back into the square of light beneath the skylight. The blacked out windows made the rest of the warehouse shadowy, and this place felt safe, like an oasis. He slid his gun into the back of his jeans.

When the figure sprang from the dark and grabbed Dean from behind, his breath was knocked out of him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes face to face with the creature that poisoned his soul, but it knows more than he's entirely comfortable with.

Dean let out a shout of surprise as his attacker hit him from behind. He broke free of the strong, clawing arms and spun around, his gun back in his hands.

There was nothing. The figure had vanished, and the only evidence of the attack was the dust motes that swirled in the air in a wild, unruly dance.

Dean stood beneath the skylight, bathed in moonlight. He turned, looking for Sam, but he was of course still with the girl at the hospital.

_Great. Typical._

An echo sprang from the corner of the warehouse behind him, a low, broken breath that spiralled into a growl. Dean tensed, his finger poised on the trigger of his gun, one hand wrapped around the silver knife in his belt.

"Alright, you son of a bitch. Come on out! Recognise me? You should." His voice reverberated off the walls, turning his voice into a snarl.

"Dean Winchester." The creature spoke quietly, and its whispers hovered in the air, the echo repeating his name like a mantra.

"Dean Winchester," the creature spoke again, and its voice was a hiss this time, "you know, your ego does you no favours… You don't _matter._ You didn't matter then, and you don't matter now."

Dean inched forward, squinting into the warehouse, reluctant to step out of the light of the shattered skylight.

"Oh yeah? Why's that then? Because I seem to remember you poisoning my freakin' soul- you don't just do that for kicks, do you?"

The creature snickered and hissed again, and Dean spun around, searching for its source. The blackness beckoned and the voice spoke from within.

"You think you know what I am, what I do. You think I'm a monster- vermin that must be destroyed. But the truth is that you know nothing. Your life is a speck in my existence, and I have battled for centuries to survive among humans. I am the better life form, the more adapted life form, the stronger life form. Humanity is but a food source. And you, Dean Winchester, know _nothing._ "

A strange sensation prickled up Dean's spine at these words, which seemed to leak out of the darkness from all directions. He stepped back, staying in the light, and willing Sam to hurry up.

He needed to buy time.

"So if I'm so insignificant, why poison my soul? Were you gonna show up later to drain the life outta me, or do you just get kicks from killing?"

The voice snarled.

"Feeding _._ "

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that. You'll have to speak up."

" _Feeding_. I feed off souls, I don't kill. Killing is what you do, every single day. You're worse than I am. You're the vermin."

Dean scowled in what he hoped was vaguely the right direction.

The creature spoke again, and Dean could have sworn it was closer this time.

"And yes, Dean, you are insignificant. Your soul has no potential. I feed off the potential of a soul, the purity that gives it possibility. The young hold the most value- I can devour the energy of the years they would have had, the way their soul would have grown."

"Well, I'm flattered, but-"

"You were simply in the way. Your soul holds no interest for me; all I can see is uncertainty in your future, and there's no potential for your soul to mature, because, Dean Winchester, you will die young."

A shadow flitted across the corner of Dean's eye, the sound of the creature's movements whispering around the warehouse.

"You always knew it, didn't you? Maybe you didn't recognise it at first, but eventually you saw it for what it was. You won't live a long life. You'll perish at the hands of those you hunt- maybe in a year, maybe in a week, maybe today. But you don't care. All these years you've lived for your little brother, and you've lived for that girlfriend of yours, Lisa…"

Dean swallowed thickly, his brow furrowed as he squinted into the unknown.

"-but, of course, your little angel came along. Brought you back from the dead, and suddenly everything was… _different,_ wasn't it Dean?"

Dean trembled, gripping the gun tighter, his finger ready on the trigger.

"How can you know all this?"

The creature let out a laugh, twisted and bitter in the dark.

"When you and your brother decided to get involved, what choice did I have but to… incapacitate one of you? And let me tell you, poisoning your soul was quite an insight into the infamous Dean Winchester… I know things about yourself that you don't even know, things that will destroy you from the inside out without my help-"

"Stop-"

"Yes… you're quite the hero, aren't you… but a hero oblivious to the fact that your angel had stolen a part of you-"

"He's not- he wasn't _my_ angel-"

"Oh but he _is._ I don't know why you're hiding it from me, I know the truth… Or perhaps it's yourself you're hiding it from…"

A whispered breath came quite clearly from behind him, something close to a laugh. Dean didn't think; he simply fired, his finger instinctively squeezing the trigger of the gun as he spun around.

The echo of the gunshot sprang off the walls like a bell, fading into nothing, and then there was silence.

Dean strained to see into the darkness, his chest tight as he waited with bated breath.

A hiss sprang from the darkness, and the echo twisted it into a laugh.

"You've caused far too much trouble for your own good, Dean. Looks as though I'll be having that soul of yours, pathetic as it is."

And suddenly the breath was knocked out of him again and the creature struck his face, stunning him. His eyes blurred and through the haze he could make out the twisted features of the thing, a grotesque grin like a mask across its face.

He tried to pull himself up, but his head throbbed and lights sprang in front of his eyes, pulsing and sliding and glowing sickeningly. He moved his head, and the world shifted to the side, sliding out of focus.

He felt a tug at his chest, a breach, and then a searing pain in his very core, a pulling and bending and snapping that made his heartbeat pound in his ears.

He heard a blood-curdling scream, a shout of pain that roared through the warehouse. It echoed and died, but seemed to repeat itself in Dean's head, and he wanted it to stop, wanted the screaming to end, wanted the pain to end-

-It was only when his breath faltered and his throat burned that he realised the scream had been his own.

Still the torturous pain continued, and it was worse than everything Dean had ever experienced, worse than all the breaks and cuts and dislocations, worse than the slice of Alastair's knife on the rack, worse than the poison that had wracked his body with torment before.

He couldn't scream anymore. His breath came out in gasps, the fight drained out of him. He felt a sensation, scorching hot and yet piercing cold, stretched from somewhere deep within him.

The creature's jeer had long blurred out of view, and the pounding in his ears meant its laughter was drowned out, but he could still feel it, ripping and tearing and pulling at something that was not flesh or bone.

Dean knew it was the end, felt the last tendrils of his soul clinging to him, and he knew they were about to snap, about to break from his aching body. The tears cleared from his eyes in a moment of sudden clarity, and he gazed at the light pouring through the ceiling, peaceful and undisturbed.

He closed his eyes.

There was a crash, distant, faded. A jolt shot through him and the pain ebbed away, a sudden rush of energy pouring back into his whole being, shrunken and shivering within him.

The heat cooled, and Dean cracked open his eyes, the image before him still hazy.

The creature had left him, and was standing a few feet in front of him, its back turned, breathing heavy, showing its ribs through thin cotton.

Beyond it, past the light that cascaded through the ceiling, the doorway of the warehouse had been blown open, and a figure stood there, moonlight highlighting the lapels of his coat as the sudden rush of wind calmed.

Dean, slumped on the floor, breathed his name out, his voice a mixture of shock and relief.

"Cas."


	10. Chapter 10

Some of it happened so quickly it seemed to Dean like a dream, or a nightmare.

The mangled scream of the creature as it turned on Castiel in anger. The flash of Castiel's angel blade carving silver arcs in the air as he fought. The echoes of high pitched laughter piercing Dean's skull. The dust motes disturbed by the movement, rising into the cold air, swirling in a chaotic dance. The moonlight dousing Castiel's coat in pale blue as he backed away from the dark.

Some of it happened with a painful clarity that replayed relentlessly in Dean's head.

The wind that rushed into Dean's face as the doors of the warehouse swung loosely on their hinges. The pause before the creature launched itself at Castiel.

Their eyes had met, and Castiel's were as blue as the day he met him, years ago in the old barn. For one impossibly delicate moment, Dean saw the angel he had known before, all scruffy hair and unquestioning obedience and simple innocence. Then the illusion fractured, split down the middle, and the eyes Dean met were full of pain and regret and the sorrow of someone who has seen too much and can do too little.

Castiel turned with one sure movement, shoulders tensed, facing the darkness that the creature had leapt into. Dean's mind throbbed and his soul trembled. The walls seemed to shrink and expand, and through the haze Dean saw his gun a few feet away, the moonlight glancing off the barrel. He moved forward slowly, reaching towards it, but his soul was shaken and his energy drained. His fingers ached and he forced himself to keep his eyes open, helpless to do anything but watch as Castiel and the creature attacked each other.

The creature had backed into the shadows again, and Castiel turned, brow furrowed in concentration, searching the inky blackness. He moved into the light of the shattered skylight, blade glinting. The moon threw shadows across his face and Dean could see raw scratches down his temple, blood beading on the edges of the cuts.

Cas met Dean's eyes again, and the flicker of a sad smile crossed his face, quickly replaced again by the concern that Dean knew so well.

He turned away again, frowning. The creature scuttled through the warehouse, out of sight, deadly. Castiel's back rose and fell as he breathed, inhaling deeply before reaching out with his Grace, stretching it into the darkness, feeling for the pulse of the monster that lurked there. The force of it shook him, and he took a step backwards to steady himself, his foot knocking the overturned paint can in the dust. It clanged loudly and rolled, playing out a flat note that dwindled into nothing. Castiel stood, his Grace extended, sweeping the corners of the warehouse, finding rust and damp and shards of metal.

_There._

He felt the thrum of the creature's presence, etched out amidst the rubble. He felt it breathe, felt the sharp hiss as it inhaled. It moved quickly.

Before he could pull back his Grace, the creature sprang forwards and latched onto Castiel's Grace, pulling at the invisible force tethered to Castiel's very core.

Castiel gasped as the poison coursed up the tendrils of his Grace, twisting and constricting and tugging.

The creature let out a breathless shriek of laughter, the taste of Castiel's Grace a sign of victory that drove it to near insanity.

Castiel screamed in pain, his Grace and his soul tearing away from his core, threatening to fill the creature with more power than it had ever devoured before. He was helpless to stop the spread of the poison, and he had only seconds before his soul would sear away. He used the last of his energy to rip it out and propel it towards the creature's quivering shape.

The creature stumbled as the energy hit it, and its laughter turned to choked coughs. A bright light seared behind its eyes, a light which burst free and filled every crevice of the warehouse, bleaching the dull grey concrete. It choked out a scream as Castiel's soul mingled with his Grace and consumed the creature from the inside out.

When the spots of white light faded from Dean's eyes, the creature was gone, destroyed by the brilliance of Castiel's soul. Cas stood in the center of the warehouse, framed by the moonlight that now seemed weak in comparison.

Castiel swayed slightly. His sword slipped from his fingers, but Dean didn't hear the impact on the concrete, because now Cas was crumpling to the floor.

Suddenly filled with a new, inexplicable, instinctive strength, Dean lunged forward as Castiel collapsed, catching his head before it made contact with the cold ground.

The angel lay in his arms, eyes impossibly blue under the moonlight.

"Cas. Cas, oh God, Cas, are you okay?" Dean could feel the concrete biting into his knees as he knelt by Castiel's side, but he ignored the pain.

Castiel gazed up at him as if seeing him for the first time. His lips formed a small smile, and he sighed with relief.

"I'm- extremely glad that- worked-" he winced slightly, "- for a moment there I- thought I'd lost."

Dean frowned. "Cas, you sure you're okay? What the hell was that?"

Castiel's breathing was labored. "I'm not- I… The creature wanted to devour my Grace, and my- _our-_ soul-" his eyes flicked downwards as he spoke, reluctant to see the anger in Dean that had driven him away.

"It's okay, it's- go on, Cas."

Castiel nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dean. "It wanted our soul, but it- underestimated the power of it combined with the purity of my Grace. That purity is what destroyed it. It was a creature of the dark, and it could not bear to consume the light. It was torn apart by its own greed."

Dean nodded, realising he didn't particularly care how Cas had killed the thing. What he cared about was _this,_ right now, right here.

"You're saying you ripped out your soul and your Grace just to ice this thing? Doesn't that mean-"

Castiel's eyes fluttered and his head slipped out of Dean's hands. Dean caught him again, hands framing his face, eyes pleading.

"Hey, woah. Cas? _Cas,_ you gotta stay with me, okay? Listen, Sam'll be back real soon, he's got the Impala, we'll take you to Bobby-"

"-Dean."

And simply hearing his name spoken by the angel he thought he'd never see again, the angel who had pulled him out of the dark, hearing his own name uttered with such reverence broke Dean, cracked him to the very core.

A sob ripped out of his throat, because that one word, that gentle interruption was all it took for Dean to understand. He wasn't going to make it this time. Cas was trying to say goodbye.

"Dean- Dean Winchester, I'm sorry for everything. I wanted to tell you, back in that field that night, when you were so angry-"

"-Oh God, Cas, no, _no._ I was stupid, I was scared, I should never have sent you away- and now-"

One of Castiel's hands came up to grip Dean's shoulder weakly, and it was such a natural gesture, so human, that through the grief Dean didn't hesitate in putting his own trembling hand to Castiel's back, to the place he knew he had branded in hell.

"Sh, Dean. You need to know that I don't blame you, that I could never blame you. You wanted your soul to be your own, but it was a part of me, and it bound me to you in ways you can't- and I couldn't give it back then, but now I have." He smiled weakly, eyes roving over Dean's face, concern filling them. "It's yours, Dean. I no longer have claim over your soul, and I'm so happy, so happy, that I could at least give you the one thing you wanted from me-"

"-I was wrong, Cas, I never wanted it, not like this, never like this, you can't die because of me, you have to stay-"

In the fading light of Castiel's eyes something lit up weakly, tiny sparks of disbelief and joy.

"-You- want me to stay? You're not- still angry-?"

"How could I be angry, Cas? You know, I knew the _second_ you left that I'd done the wrong thing, that I'd been stupid and selfish, and the thought of never seeing you again- these last few months have been- I missed you so much, so much, Cas. I'm so sorry, God, I'm so _sorry._ "

His eyes had long since grown hot and now a tear spilled down his cheek, rolling over his skin, followed by others, each marking tracks down his face, little pathways that paved through the dirt and the grime, cleaned him of the past. He made no effort to stop them.

Cas was trembling now, and his grip on Dean's shoulder was weakening. Dean twisted his fingers through Castiel's cold, thin ones, feeling them curl in response to his warmth. His other hand was curved around Castiel's jaw, and he thumbed his cheek, eliciting a choked sob when the gesture made Cas smile through half-shut eyes.

"You can't leave me, Cas, not now, I just got you back. _I need you._ I need you to stay with me."

Cas spoke in little more than a whisper.

"Promise me- promise me you'll stay with Sam, that you'll let him take care of you-"

" _Don't_ \- stop talking like that. How am I supposed to bear it, Cas, how can I just go on living when you-"

Castiel's eyes blazed again, and he stared at Dean fiercely.

"Don't you _dare_ , Dean Winchester. This life is yours now, all of it. You don't have to share with anyone-"

"You don't get it, do you? I want to share it. I wanna share it with you, Cas, and now you're dying and I can't do anything, and it's my fault-"

Castiel shut his eyes again, panting a little.

"Just- don't hate yourself, Dean. You're better than you know- I know your soul and I could never hate you- it's beautiful- you're-"

Sobs wracked Dean's body and he curled over Castiel, arm tangled in his trenchcoat, forehead now pressed to Castiel's. He was overcome, and as he cried Castiel's hand came up to caress his face, trembling with the effort.

They remained like that for a while, Dean leaning over Cas, touching his head to his own, cupping his cheek with his hand. Cas, with his palm at Dean's face, holding his hand gently, comforting him as his energy seeped away.

Castiel let out a small sigh, and Dean sat up, hands framing Castiel's face, red-rimmed eyes gazing in fear at his peaceful expression.

"No, no no Cas, you can't- you can't die now, please-"

Castiel's lips parted and hushed Dean into silence.

"You know, I never regretted pulling you from perdition- not for one second-"

"Please, Cas, stay with me, come on-"

"-Not for one second, because I always knew, from the moment I laid a hand on you, that-"

Dean's voice was a whisper. "What?"

Castiel smiled, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

"I think you know- I think you've always known, too. Dean Winchester, I- "

Dean stared blankly at Castiel's face, felt the weak grip on his shoulder go limp. He squeezed Castiel's fingers gently, but they did not respond.

He bent his head down, touched his lips to Castiel's forehead just as Cas had done to him that night in the field. He pressed his face into Castiel's trenchcoat, inhaling his scent of dust and warmth and clean air. His fingers pulled at Castiel's hair, the strands that he had never bothered to tame. He crouched over Castiel's body as if in prayer, and he wept.

"No, no no _no_ , Cas, come back, Castiel, oh God, no."

His choked sobs quietened and he shut his eyes.

"No, I can't do this, I'm not strong enough, please, Cas!"

The warehouse rang with silence, the only noise the mournful echo of his own whispered pleas.

"I knew it, don't worry, Cas- I knew what you were trying to say, you're right-"

His voice cracked.

"You're _right,_ I always knew, and oh God, Cas, I _love you_ , and I think I always did."

Saying it out loud filled him again with that emotion, and the sobs started afresh as Dean repeated the words like a mantra.

"I love you, Cas-"

The moonlight curved over Castiel's skin, lighting it up with an ethereal glow.

"-I love you-"

The cold night air seeped into Dean's skin.

"-I love you-"

Castiel's body was still.

"-I love you."

There was a sound in the distance, piercing into Dean's numb mind. The tears had dried on his face and he was crouched in silence, still holding Castiel.

He didn't know how much time had passed.

When Sam's voice finally got through to him, it was wrecked, broken. He looked up from Castiel's tranquil face and, as though through a veil, saw Sam's face, saw the grief in his eyes. He watched numbly as Sam's mouth moved, forming words that didn't quite reach him. He felt arms lift him from the ground, but they weren't the arms that had held him before, they were too warm, too real. He stood weakly, fingers untangling from Castiel's.

When he looked back at his body he became aware of a great shadow that blossomed outwards from Castiel. Seared into the ground, intricate and coal-black, was the imprint of a pair of wings.

They were beautiful, etched with the delicacy of lace, and spread in a final token of farewell.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Castiel's death, Dean finds himself yearning for things he can never have.

In the weeks following Castiel's death, Dean was mostly numb.

They had given him a hunter's funeral, of course. It seemed only right, and as Dean watched the flames lick up into the night sky, tiny sparks of glowing ash flitting upwards into the darkness, he knew it would always have ended this way.

It didn't make it hurt any less, though. Dean was crippled with a blinding grief that found him in the dead of night, which inevitably bled into his thoughts before he fell asleep.

He dreamt, mostly of Castiel, of the moments that could have been, that should have been. Castiel's eyes as bright as ever, a smile gracing his face as he would slip his fingers through Dean's. The back of his hair, those messy strands that Dean would card his hand through tenderly. His trenchcoat, warm and musty and wearing thin, a constant presence over the years. His nose wrinkling when he laughed, and those wrinkles eventually staying, becoming etched into his face as a reminder of the happiness they would share as they grew old.

When Dean awoke from those dreams he would be weeping silently, mourning the days that would never be. He would get up, shake Sam awake, pretend he wasn't haunted by a torment worse than his forty years in hell. He would get back from a hunt and drink, pass out on the bed, and Sam wouldn't try to stop him. He would clear their motel room of Dean's discarded bottles while he slept, and he would ease Dean out of his shirts that carried the incriminating smell of alcohol, and he would wash them clean. The next day the only evidence of Dean's drinking would be the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the headaches that throbbed incessantly, reminding him of his broken promises.

_Promise me- promise me that you'll stay with Sam, that you'll let him take care of you-_

_Just- don't hate yourself, Dean._

Sometimes Dean would take the Impala and drive himself to that spot where they had watched Castiel's vessel burn into ash and scatter itself to the winds, and he would sit on the hood of the car and talk to Cas.

"Heya, Cas. I miss you. It's been months, now. It's late September, and I know if you could see this place, you'd have that faraway look in your eyes, and you'd be telling me about your first year, all those millennia ago, the first time you saw summer drift into fall."

Dean tugged a hand through his hair, smiling a little. The sky above him was pink and gold, flayed with soft streaks of cloud.

"It's so beautiful, Cas. I think I get it now. Why you were always so loyal. Heaven's screwed, but this- this is God, right here in the air and the leaves and the light, and I know you could always see that, even when the other angels couldn't. I think I can see it now. Maybe it's since I lost that part- that part of your soul, that I've noticed what was there all along, in you and in me. In us."

A cool breeze swept over his skin, and he drank in the pure, sweet air, his loss ringing fresh in his mind, and he shut his eyes, tears burning under his eyelids.

"I wish I could take it all back, Cas- God, I wish you could actually hear me right now. I'm sorry- I'm so sorry you never got to hear- that you never knew how I-"

A leaf fluttered against the trunk of a tree, trying to free itself from the mass of still green leaves that surrounded it. It turned back and forth on its stem, twisting in the wind.

"I just want you back, even just for a second, just so you could know- just so I could tell you properly- I loved you- I love you, Cas."

The wind pulled at the leaf, and it almost broke away from the oak, settling back into place among the branches, still restless.

"This whole thing, Cas, with our souls- it happened so quickly, I couldn't… I couldn't handle it, I didn't understand at first. You told me not to blame myself, but- but I was in shock, and I wasn't there for you, and if I hadn't been so stupid we would never have gone to that warehouse, and I could've saved you-"

The wind calmed and the leaf stilled, trembling slightly.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this, I was supposed to be there, I was supposed to catch you when you fell- but we both fell at the same time, we fell together, and now all I can do is say that I'm sorry, and that I love you. I know you forgave me a long time ago- and I know that you wanted me to forgive myself, but…"

Dean opened his eyes again, gazed at the world, at the beauty that Cas had always appreciated, and he felt something give, deep within him.

"… But how can I, when it just feels like letting you go?"

The wind nudged the leaf once more, and it twisted away from the branch of the tree, fluttering down in slow circles, occasionally pushed upwards by gusts of cool wind. Its descent was graceful, tranquil, and when it touched the soft brown earth at the base of the tree, the very wind seemed to sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a massive thank you to my gorgeous beta and wonderful friend Daisy, who encouraged me in writing this, and helped me get rid of all the overly cheesy bits! She's the best beta I could have asked for.
> 
> You can find another copy of this story on fanfiction.net, under the same name and title...
> 
> Thank you for reading this and for caring so much about the story. It's my first ever fic, so writing this has been amazing! You're the best- over and out.


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